


Overboard

by SharkGirl



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Never Met, Alternate Universe - Sailors, Cute, EmiMike, First Kiss, Fluff, Implied MilaSara (for one second during the epilogue), M/M, MichEmil, Near Death Experiences, Rescue, Sweet, implied victuuri, merman!Emil, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 06:45:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11435358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkGirl/pseuds/SharkGirl
Summary: Ship navigator and second mate Michele is in over his head when their crew accidentally catches something unexpected in their net: a merman.Written for Nell for theEmiMike Exchange!!





	Overboard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mayazero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayazero/gifts).



> Hello all!! This is my second gift for the EmiMike Exchange. We had someone who let me know well in advance that they couldn't participate. So...you get two from me (sorry!)
> 
> This was written for @fyvkthisshyet~  
> I really hope you enjoy this, Nell! I went with the Pirate/Merman AU prompt (even though they're not really pirates...they're more like sailors)
> 
> Beta'd by the irreplaceable Laura (omg, you helped so much!) and the fabulous Crispy! ♥  
> Please enjoy!!

The first time Michele encountered one of the fabled creatures was during his apprenticeship as a cabin boy under the famous Captain Cialdini. He was fourteen, petulant – the reason he was swabbing the deck in the middle of the night – and angry at his father for shipping him off in the first place. He hated being separated from his sister, the only person in their family who seemed to understand him.

And he was thinking those sad thoughts as he stared out over the water, inky black under a moon- and starless sky.

Then the boat gave a mighty lurch and young Michele was falling, the mop still clutched tightly in his hands. He didn’t remember much after that, just the sting of the icy water, blue eyes that shone with an ethereal glow, and a strange, shimmering tail.

He awoke sometime later, half in a dinghy that hung off of the side of the ship. The quartermaster was poking him in the cheek with the handle of the mop. “You alive, Crispino?” he asked, quirking a brow.

Once he was fully conscious, Michele launched into his story, telling them about how he’d fallen and nearly drowned and how he’d been saved by a mermaid.

“That’s cute,” one of the men said once he’d stopped laughing, brushing a stray tear from his eye. “But mermaids don’t exist, kid.”

“But I saw it!” Michele argued and they all began laughing again, clutching their bellies and doubling over. But after he insisted a third time, the captain intervened, parting the crowd and looking down at Michele’s soaked and pitiful state.

“What’s going on here?” he asked.

“The Crispino boy thinks he was rescued by a mermaid!” a crewmember guffawed, but was instantly silenced when the captain looked his way, his pale eyes cold.

“You say you saw a mermaid?” Captain Cialdini shifted his gaze over to Michele, who swallowed thickly.

“Y-Yes, sir.”

“Talk like that could get you put away,” he said. “Best forget about it.”

“But sir-”

“Or would you prefer to peel potatoes in the galley for the duration of our voyage?” the captain asked, raising his voice.

Michele shrunk a bit, shaking his head. “No, sir.”

“Then I suggest you let the subject drop.”

And, so, Michele did.

For eight years he didn’t mention his miraculous rescue or the creature he knew had saved him. And, with time, he’d forgotten all about it.

His silence had paid off. He focused on his work and, with time, he rose through the ranks. Sailing came naturally to Michele and by his twenty-first birthday, he found himself the ship’s navigator and second mate to Captain Nikiforov, the famous – or infamous –Hero of the Seven Seas.

But, regardless of his captain’s accolades, the pay was good and they came back to their home port at least once a month. That allowed him to keep tabs on his sister, who kept their grandparents’ inn just a stone’s throw from the harbor.

Her smiling face was what helped him bear with his captain’s frivolous ventures.

A year at sea and, in addition to shipping the usual goods, spices and such, they’d been given another assignment.

When Michele had first heard about it, he laughed, assuming Victor was either drunk or crazy. But after their first mate, a trustworthy if not a little eccentric man by the name of Christophe Giacometti, confirmed it, Michele zipped his lips.

He didn’t want to lose his position. And it seemed as though the rest of the crew didn’t know about their captain’s little side interest. So, he kept his mouth shut. Besides, what business was it of his if Victor wanted to find a mermaid? Or, what had he called it? A siren?

No matter. Michele would just continue doing his job and collecting his pay. It wasn’t like they’d ever find one.

 

It was early morning when Michele heard shouts coming from the main deck. He rolled his eyes. He never understood how the crew could get so rowdy over the tiniest of things. They probably found a bottle floating amongst the waves.

But when Michele stepped out topside, he heard another excited cry. “Get the captain!”

“We found one!”

“Is it real?”

Curious, Michele hastened his pace, peering around some of the sailors to get a better look at what they were so interested in. And there, tangled in their fishing net, was a man. No, he wasn’t a man, because men didn’t have long, shimmering tails covered in pearlescent scales.

Michele gaped, the words barely making it past his lips. “That’s a-”

“Mermaid!” one of the men cheered. “We caught a mermaid!”

But it wasn’t a mermaid, as far as Michele could gather. For one, its upper body was most definitely a man’s and, in addition, though the creature had a long mop of sandy-colored hair hanging down well past his midsection, he was also sporting a full beard.

Michele stared at him and, as if the merman could feel his gaze upon him, he snapped his head up. Bright, iridescent blue eyes, the color of the sea in the shallows between reefs, locked onto Michele’s. But what was more unsettling than the intensity of the creature’s gaze, was the sense of déjà vu that washed over Michele.

They looked familiar.

“Let’s get him uncovered so we can get a better look,” one of the men suggested. But the moment he unsheathed his cutlass, the merman tore his gaze from Michele’s and let out an unholy shriek. Most of the men, including Michele, covered their ears, but that didn’t deter the others.

The man with the sword grabbed some of the next, trying to untangle the thrashing beast, who had already taken several sailors down with a few sweeps of his massive tail.

“Put that blasted blade away!” one shouted.

“If we cut it loose, it’ll likely kill us all!” added another.

But the man continued to hack through the ropes, accidentally slicing through the merman’s tail in the process and eliciting yet another earsplitting screech. He writhed on the deck, hissing and knocking a few more men over before an authoritative voice cut through the chaos.

“Step away!” It was the first mate. Chris marched forward, eyeing each of the sailors as they stood up and saluted him. “What is…” He looked down, raising his brows at the sight of the agitated and bleeding merman. “Captain!” he called over his shoulder. “You might want to take a look at this.”

“What is it, Chris?” Victor walked over, adjusting his large hat as the wind blew against it, ruffling its enormous plume.

“They’ve caught one,” he answered and, all at once, Victor ran over, pushing past his men and dropping to his knees in front of the creature.

“It’s all right,” he soothed, deft fingers untangling the net and pulling it away so the merman could sit up properly. “You’re all right now.”

Michele stepped forward, a hand on his sword, afraid the beast might claw or bite at their captain. But he did no such thing. Instead, he cocked his head to the side, looking more curious than anything else.

“There’s a lad,” Victor cooed and held a hand up. “May I?”

The merman didn’t seem to understand, but he didn’t stop the captain when he pushed some of his stringy, salt-encrusted bangs from his eyes.

Victor’s shoulders slumped and he sighed before standing back up. “It’s not him.”

The crew began to whisper, but they grew silent when Chris shot them a look. “I’m sorry, Captain.”

“It was too much to hope for, anyway.” Victor straightened and turned toward Michele. “Sea Artist,” he addressed him, using the antiquated term. “Please take this poor, injured creature down below to recuperate.”

Michele gaped. A thousand questions popped into his head. He didn’t know where to begin. First off all, he was certain he couldn’t lift the merman, let alone carry him all the way downstairs. Secondly, what was he supposed to do when he got him there? And, most importantly, why him?!

“Have some of the men assist you,” Victor answered before Michele could ask. “The galley is the only space with a washbasin large enough to accommodate our guest.” Then he smiled. “You are one of my finest, most knowledgeable men. I’m trusting you with this, Mr. Crispino.”

And then, with a click of his heels, the captain was gone, his first mate following right behind.

Michele turned back to face the merman, who had calmed considerably and was simply staring up at him, flicking his fin from side to side as wide, sapphire eyes blinked inquisitively.

 _Just lovely_.

“You heard the captain,” Michele ground out, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let’s get him to the galley.”

 

After what Michele considered the most harrowing of his trips down the stairs, he, with the help of five other men, got the merman free from the remains of the net and into the empty washbasin.

“Begin filling buckets with sea water,” Michele ordered. “And bring me some absinthe and dried yarrow from the medicine chest.” The others nodded and followed his orders. He sighed. What Michele wouldn’t have given for a proper surgeon aboard.

But years at sea had taught him a thing or two about treating an injury.

He tried his best not to make eye contact with the creature as he waited for his requested items. He busied himself by grabbing a jar of fresh water from the pantry. When the men returned, he placed the yarrow in a bowl and poured the water over it, letting it soak. Then he took the bottle of absinthe and let it hover just above the merman’s injured tail.

“This may sting a bit,” he warned, glancing up and accidentally locking eyes again. Wow. Out of the bright sun, their color shifted to the sea just before a storm. Dark and deep…and mesmerizing. But Michele snapped out of it when the merman squeezed them shut, hissing in pain as the alcohol hit his wound. “I’m sorry,” Michele found himself apologizing automatically.

He set the bottle down and reached for his bowl, scooping out some of the poultice with his fingers and gingerly applying it to the cut. He stopped when the merman reached out, wrapping long fingers around his wrist.

Michele faced him, startled by the sudden movement.

“H…Hhhh…” the creature struggled, eyes wide.

“This will help stop the bleeding,” Michele promised. Slowly, the merman released him, moving his hand to grip the edge of the tub and allowing Michele to finish. When he found the cut to be suitably covered, he reached for a clean bit of fabric and finished dressing the wound. “There.”

“Thhhh…Thhhhh…”

“Try not to move around too much,” Michele instructed. But the merman reached out, taking his hands in his, and stared up at him with those gorgeous eyes.

“Thhhhaaaa…nnnk…thaaaank,” he said and, as though proud of himself, smiled widely.

Michele blinked, unsure if he’d heard him correctly. He glanced from side to side to see if anyone else had witnessed the merman speaking, but the other sailors were only just returning, heavily laden with buckets of sea water.

“Where would you like these, sir?”

With a sigh, Michele pulled his hands back and gestured toward the basin. “Fill it up. We don’t want him drying out.”

That seemed like the right thing to do, anyway. He knew quite a lot about the ocean and its life, but he’d never encountered anything like this before. However, when he lowered his lids, he pictured that shimmering tail and those enchanting eyes. He recalled freezing water and the burning of his lungs.

He shook his head. He must not have gotten enough sleep to be dreaming during the day.

“What should we do with him?” a sailor asked, staring at the merman with awed fascination.

Michele sighed, finally realizing the gravity of being saddled with this new responsibility. He was in charge of this creature now. And, until he’d properly recuperated, Michele was stuck with him.

“Clean him up,” he ordered and then paused, frowning at the wild, unkempt hair and matching beard. He imagined one of the men trying to comb through it and getting his face clawed when he caught a knot. “Better yet, just…leave it for now.”

He sighed and turned on his heel, heading toward the stairs. “Take turns watching over him. I’m going up for some air.” He caught them saluting in his periphery and ascended, wanting nothing more than to create as much space between him and merman as physically possible on their vessel.

Once topside, Michele found Chris, who was leaning on the rail and staring out at the horizon.

“I’ve treated its wounds and left some men behind the guard it,” he reported.

“You think he’ll be alright?” Chris asked, glancing at him.

“Yes, I believe it— _he_ will be fine,” Michele answered. After a moment of odd silence, he made to leave, but the first mate’s voice stopped him.

“The captain is in his quarters. Nursing a broken heart.”

“Sir?” Michele quirked a brow.

“He’ll get over it, of course,” Chris said with a fond chuckle. “But when he’d heard we had a merman on board, well…he got his hopes up.”

“The captain is looking for a specific merman?” Michele guessed and Chris nodded.

“He found one years ago. Fell in love,” he said. “Been searching for him ever since.”

“I see…” Michele replied, suddenly feeling like this was information he shouldn’t have been privy to. “I should go, uh…check on him.”

Chris bobbed his head and waved him off before looking back out at the ocean. “Mr. Crispino,” he called before Michele reached the stairs. “Now you know they exist.”

He did. But, for some reason, he felt like he’d always known.

 

Michele spent the day keeping an eye on the merman. He changed his bandage when necessary and made sure he ate – now they finally had a use for those leftoever fish heads – as unsavory as that was. And the whole time, he didn’t speak a word. Michele was beginning to think he’d imagined the merman’s utterance of gratitude from earlier. Too much sun or salty air, probably.

But that night, just as Michele was getting ready to switch guard duty with one of the other sailors, the merman stretched a hand out toward him, wrapping his fingers around his wrist again. When he glanced down, he was met with pleading eyes.

“D-D…D-D-D…”

“I have to get some rest,” he explained, voice soft, as though he was speaking to a child. “I’ll be back to check on you in the morning.” He eased the other’s hand away. “You should sleep, too.” He reached forward without thinking and smoothed some of the merman’s wild locks, just as he used to do when Sara was younger. Then he noted the beard and remembered that the merman was probably older than he was.

But there was something about those eyes. So innocent. So vulnerable. So familiar.

“Sleep well,” he said and left the galley.

 

That night, Michele dreamed of another ship. One he hadn’t been aboard in ages. He was younger then, he thought, looking out over the glassy surface of the water. But then he fell, for what seemed like an eternity. And when he hit the water, he sunk lower and lower.

Just in front of him, he spotted glowing eyes. Enchanting. Ethereal.

Then he was being forced up. And when he broke the surface, he took in a mighty gulp of air.

For a moment, Michele couldn’t tell if he was awake or not. He’d jolted upright in bed, his sheet pooling at his hips. He lifted a hand to his head, wiping the sweat from his brow.

He’d been dreaming. But, oh, it had felt so real. It was almost as if it wasn’t a dream at all, but…a memory.

He was just entertaining the idea of going back to sleep, when he heard a frantic knocking on his door. “Yes?”

“Mr. Crispino, sir!” It sounded like the man he’d left on guard duty. “Please hurry! It’s the creature!”

Michele threw his covers off, not bothering to change out of his nightclothes. He just tugged on his boots and opened the door. “What happened?”

 

He stormed down to the galley, his heart in his throat. The sailor didn’t do a good job of explaining anything at all. But he heard the words knife and cut and that was enough to get him moving.

When he walked into the room, he spotted the guard’s fallen chair, as though the other man had shot out of it very suddenly. And in the basin, illuminated by the lamps, was a smiling merman, a knife in one hand and a large clump of hair in the other.

It was then that Michele noticed there was hair all over the floor.

He ran up and took the blade from the other, setting it on the counter, well out of his reach. Then he opened his mouth, unsure how to scold him. But the words didn’t make it out.

“Ssss…Ssssame.” The merman said and then puffed his chest out proudly. “Same.” He pointed to his hair and then to Michele’s.

“No, we are most certainly not the same,” Michele replied in a rush and then froze. “You just spoke.” It wasn’t a question, but the merman answered anyway.

“Yes. Ssss…Speak little.”

Michele understood now that he must still be dreaming. There was no way that the merman who’d hissed and screeched the day before was speaking to him so easily. That was just ridiculous.

“Not same.”

That brought him out of his own head. “Excuse me?”

“Not same.” The merman pointed to Michele’s face and then tugged on his own beard. “Not same.”

What was he getting at? Did he want Michele to trim it for him? But it looked as though, with all his hacking, he’d lost quite a bit of it.

Then there was a damp hand on his, fingers sliding against it before their palms were pressed together. Michele blinked and met the merman’s gaze. “Same.” He smiled.

“Did you see?” the sailor gasped, finally having caught up. “It’s…It’s…!”

“Retire for the night,” Michele ordered. “I’ll take it from here.”

 

After cleaning up the amazing amount of hair from around the tub, Michele turned his attention on the being inside it. “You’ve made quite a mess of yourself,” he mused and waited for the other to speak. He’d clammed up the moment the other sailor arrived and remained that way since. “Nothing to say now?”

The merman shook his head.

“Very well.” Michele sighed. “Let’s start by fixing that hair.” But the task was easier said than done. How such a large creature was able to wriggle about in the tiny washbasin boggled his mind and finally, after at least getting the sides even, Michele gave up. His hair was shorter now, but still stuck out in every direction.

“Same!” he exclaimed.

“Not quite,” Michele replied, not wanting to discourage him now that he was finally talking again. “Now for that beard.”

“No.” He reared back, covering his chin and the half-cut hair that stuck out from it.

“Come now, it needs to go.”

“No.” He shook his head again. “Ahhhh…Honor. F-Family,” he breathed.

All right, so it was a merman thing. Then again, facial hair was common with humans, as well. It showed maturity and sometimes one’s social status. Now, if only Michele could grow some.

With a sigh, he reached out to the other and gently pulled his hands away. “Just a trim, then,” he promised. And, surprisingly, the merman agreed.

When he was finished, Michele took a step back to admire his work. He’d done a fine job. At least the merman looked presentable now. “Not bad.”

“Good.”

“Hmm?” Michele raised his brows.

“Not bad…good,” he answered and then ducked his head. “Yes?”

“Oh, yes. That’s right.” Michele cleared his throat. “You have an impressive vocabulary,” he began. “Where did you learn to speak?”

It looked like the merman was struggling to think of the word. He held his hands out, pantomiming as best he could. He moved his arm like a wave and then saluted.

“From sailors?” Michele guessed and he nodded enthusiastically. “You know sailors?” But he shook his head. “Oh. So, you just heard them?” Another nod. “That’s incredible.”

Michele, himself, could speak four languages. His mother tongue of Italian, Russian, French, and English. But even he wasn’t completely fluent and he’d been studying for years. And here was this merman who had simply overheard humans speaking and could more or less communicate.

“I never introduced myself,” Michele realized, ashamed at his awful behavior. Then again, he didn’t know the creature he’d be watching over would be able to converse with him. He’d thought it simply that. A creature. An animal. But he was more human that he’d originally seemed. “I’m Michele Crispino. The second mate for this vessel.”

“Mi…Mmmm…Miche…Mickey!” he said, flashing a bright smile.

“No, no. Michele. Mi…chele.”

“Mickey.” He beamed and Michele didn’t have the heart – or the energy – to argue with him.

“Fine.”

“Mickey,” he said again, lifting an arm out of the tub and pressing his palm against Michele’s chest, soaking through the fabric of his shirt. Then he brought his hand back and placed it against his own. “Emil.”

“Emil,” Michele repeated, testing it out. “Emil.”

Emil nodded vigorously, holding his hand out and waiting. Michele stared for a moment before placing his own against it. Immediately, Emil laced their fingers, his bright blue eyes glowing in the dimly lit galley. “Yes.”

 

Michele decided that it would be best if he stayed with Emil for the rest of his recovery. After all, it was his assignment. And, after the hair incident, he really didn’t trust any of the sailors to keep an eye on him, especially overnight.

But after two nights of waking up with a stiff neck from sleeping on a chair in the galley, he ordered that the large basin – and Emil – be moved into his quarters. He had plenty of room after all. And he’d learned, unfortunately by experience, how far to keep Emil from his bed.

He’d only gone out to get more oil for his lamp and, when he returned, the merman was snuggled up against his pillow, his enormous tail hanging off the foot of his bed, and the sheets and comforter completely soaked.

Once he figured out the logistics, it was quite nice having Emil in his room. He wasn’t much for conversation at first, most of his replies being monosyllabic or shakes or nods of his head. But it seemed that the more Michele spoke, the more Emil understood and parroted back.

What an interesting adaptation.

 

A week went by like that, Michele reading aloud from his books as Emil leaned his elbows on the rim of the tub, sparkling eyes wide with interest and wonder. It was nice. I reminded him of when his mother used to read to them when he and Sara were younger.

“You miss her?” Emil asked one evening. Michele, who hadn’t even realized he’d stopped reading, blinked and turned his way.

“What?”

“Your Sara. You miss her?”

“Oh.” Michele’s cheeks flushed. He was just thinking about how he’d tell his sister about the merman he’d met, wondering if she’d believe him. Perhaps he’d said her name aloud. “Yes. I miss her terribly.”

Emil held his hand out and Michele, who’d grown used to this, placed his palm against his. “Same,” Emil said sadly. “My family.”

Something twisted inside of Michele’s chest. All this time and he’d never once considered the possibility that Emil had a family. And they’d been sailing away from where they’d caught him for quite some time. He might never see them again.

“Do you have brothers and sisters?” Michele asked, hoping to cheer the other up.

Emil nodded. “Six sisters. No brothers. I am most small.” He laughed. “Very protective.”

Michele suddenly envisioned six extremely infuriated mermaids chasing after their vessel in search of their missing baby brother. “I see…” He swallowed.

“Mickey should not make a face like that.” Emil reached out and touched his cheek before curling his fingers under Michele’s jaw. “They would like Mickey. Very much like Mickey.”

Now Michele’s face was burning for a different reason entirely. And the mere thought of why that might be had him pulling away from the other’s grasp. “I see. I’m honored, then.”

In an attempt to ignore the warmth bubbling up in his chest, Michele stood up and inspected Emil’s injury. He was happy to see that, beneath the bandages, his cut was almost completely healed. There was just a thin line, like a scar, a shade lighter than the scales surrounding it.

“How is it?” Emil peered over Michele’s shoulder.

“Much better,” he answered. “You can probably go home in less than a day’s time,” he added and frowned at the tightness in his chest. He knew from the beginning that he was only helping Emil recuperate. It’s not like the merman would live in his quarters forever. Besides, he had a family waiting for him. And so did Michele.

“Oh. That is good.” Emil cleared his throat, flaring his gills as he sighed and leaned on the tub’s edge. “Will Mickey read more?”

Michele glanced over at the book on his bed, only half finished, and then nodded. “Sure.”

 

The following day, Victor and Chris came to Michele’s room to check on his patient.

“He’s all better!” the captain cheered. “You can barely tell there was a cut at all.” He reached a hand out to smooth over Emil’s scales, but the merman pulled away, nearly upending the basin. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Victor snatched his hand back. “He still doesn’t like to be touched?”

“No.” Michele frowned. “He’s been completely fine with-”

“We should hurry and return him to the sea,” Chris said, looking rather nervous. How unusual.

“Sir?” Michele questioned.

“There’s a storm brewing,” he explained. “We need you topside, Mr. Crispino.” He brought his hands behind his back and clicked his heels.

Michele understood. He’d been neglecting his duties, after all. Even if he’d been following his captain’s orders. He was the only one aboard who could safely navigate them away from the storm. If it wasn’t too late.

“Do you think he can swim?” Victor asked, eyeing Emil’s fin, which hung over the rim of the basin.

That wasn’t something he’d considered. Sure, Emil was better, but he’d been stuck in a tiny tub of water for the better part of a fortnight. When humans recovered from leg injuries, they required crutches. He couldn’t very well toss Emil back into the ocean and call it a day.

“Maybe I can practice?” Emil suggested and Michele thought about it. It was a good idea. He turned to his superiors to propose a plan, but he stopped when he noticed that the two were staring at Emil with wide eyes. “Sirs?”

“He can…speak?” Victor blinked. “Wow! Amazing!”

“That’s impressive,” Chris agreed, stepping closer. “Have you always been able to speak?”

Emil shook his head. “Only a little,” he explained. “Mickey has taught me lots.”

The captain and first mate looked his way and Michele knew he was pink to his ears, but he nodded. “I’ve been reading to him.”

“That’s fantastic!” Victor cheered. “It’s a shame we have to let him go.”

“Yes. I must go home,” Emil replied solemnly.

There was a rumble from above and they all looked up. The storm was approaching.

“We should hurry,” Michele said.

“What do you propose we do with the merman?” Chris asked.

“Emil,” he said from the tub. “My name is Emil.”

“Oh.” Chris offered him a fond little smile before turning back to face Michele. “What do you propose we do with Emil?”

“I’m not sure if it will work,” he paused, second-guessing his plan. “But I have an idea.”

 

Michele’s ‘sea crutches’ were little more than two barrels and some rope. The empty barrels would float above the water and keep Emil upright until his tail was strong enough to swim on his own. Then he could untie the ropes – Michele had taught him how – and swim freely again.

It took ten men and a dinghy to lower Emil into the water. The storm, which had changed direction, was far off in the distance. It would probably miss them, but just in case it did not, Michele urged the sailors to hurry.

Once Emil was in the water, they returned to the deck, his lifeline in hand. Michele planned on using the vessel’s forward motion to help Emil get used to being back in the open water. Then they’d cut him loose and he’d be on his own.

Again, Michele’s chest tightened. Perhaps he’d feel better if he gave the merman a proper farewell. So, with that thought in mind, he had them lower him down in the dinghy once more.

Emil, who seemed happy to finally be out of his tiny basin, waved up at him and gripped the edge of the small boat when Michele touched down. “Mickey is back?” He cocked his head, smiling brightly.

“I wanted to say-” but Michele was interrupted by a thunderclap. He looked up. It appeared that the storm was once again overhead. So much for time.

“Mr. Crispino!” one of the sailors called over the wind that had begun to howl. “The captain is asking for you!”

“I’ll be right up,” he promised. “I have to go Emil. My crew needs me.”

“I understand.” Emil held his hand up and Michele pressed their palms together. “Goodbye, Mickey.”

“Goodbye, Emil.”

And with an unpleasant heaviness that he hadn’t felt since the first time he left Sara behind, he signaled for the men to pull him up.

The storm was close. Cool droplets had already begun to fall, whipping their faces as they struggled with the rigging. It was going to be a bad one.

“Everyone get down below!” Chris ordered once Michele had given him the all clear. The sailors filed down the stairs to wait out the storm, but Michele stayed behind. He just wanted to check on Emil first.

“Mickey!” He waved cheerfully as Michele peered over the rail.

“I’m going to cut the lifeline,” Michele shouted, hating to call it that. But Emil didn’t seem bothered in the least. He simply nodded and drew away from the side of the ship.

With one last lingering glance, Michele unsheathed his sword and slashed through the rope. He watched it disappear over the side of the ship, but, when he looked down, he found that Emil was still attached.

The end had gotten caught, wedged between a cannon and the side of the gunport. He cursed. There was no way he could reach it from where he was. And if he didn’t let Emil loose, the merman might get hurt during the storm.

With a deep breath, Michele lowered himself over the ledge, gripping the ropes in order to keep from falling off the side of the boat. The wind was really blowing now and icy droplets of rain pelted him. Still, he made it to where the end of the rope had gotten caught. But his fingers had barely brushed the frayed end when the boat tipped, knocked by a wave.

Michele lost his grip and fell. He could have sworn he’d heard Emil call out to him, but then he hit the water’s surface and everything went dark.

 

His body ached and his lungs burned. Michele opened his eyes and focused on the bleary world around him. Then he remembered. He’d fallen off the side of the ship! He needed to swim back to the surface. But it was so far away. Still, he had to try.

Frantically, he kicked his legs, the waves above never seeming to draw nearer. He did see two bright blue somethings in the distance. They glowed in the murky water, looking ethereal and oh, so familiar. And just as he thought his chest might explode, he felt someone grab him around his middle. He struggled to fight them off, but he had no strength left.

And then, with amazing speed, he was rushed to the surface. He took in a huge gulp of air, breathing in salt and rain along with it. He fell back against a broad chest, his head swimming.

“Mickey.” He barely registered someone speaking to him. “Mickey, hang on.”

Then he closed his eyes and lost consciousness once more.

 

Michele was dreaming again. He was surrounded by darkness. But then he saw two eyes, bright and shimmering. And the darkness melted away.

“Mickey,” someone called. “Mickey, please answer.”

His head lolled to the side as he fought his way back to consciousness. There was a hand on his chin, gently turning his head. Michele’s eyes fluttered open and he winced at the bright light of the midday sun.

“Mickey!” Emil’s cheered. “Mickey is okay!”

“Emil…” He opened his eyes again and stared up into Emil’s. And then he remembered. The storm, his falling overboard, the fact that Emil had saved him. And he knew, without a doubt, that it hadn’t been the first time. “You saved me.”

“Yes.” Emil took his hand in his and brought it to his chest. His heart was racing.

Michele tried to sit up, but failed miserably, so he chose instead to look around. He was in the dinghy, Emil half in, his tail still in the water. He glanced up and saw the side of the ship and several heads sticking out over the rail, including the captain and his first mate.

“Mickey is okay!” Emil cried again, louder this time, and then the others began to clap.

The storm was over. He’d survived.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice gravelly from the amount of saltwater he’d undoubtedly swallowed. “Thank you for saving me…again.”

Emil smiled then. It was warmer and brighter than Michele had ever seen it. “You remember me, Mickey?”

His head was still a little fuzzy, but he managed to sit up and quirk a brow. “ _You_ remember _me_?” he countered.

“Ah, yes.” Emil ducked his head, his cheeks tinting.

“It was so long ago…” he trailed off, lifting a hand to caress Emil’s jaw. “How did you know it was me?”

Emil glanced up, his blush still evident. Then he cupped Michele’s cheek. “Your eyes.”

Well, perhaps they weren’t all that different after all.

 

Once Michele had recovered, it was truly time for Emil to return home.

“Are you sure you don’t need the barrels?” Michele asked, knowing full well that the other had swum to save him and managed just fine with both of their weights during a storm without his crutch. But still, he worried.

“I am fine,” he replied. “But I will miss you, Mickey.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” He sighed. “I wish you didn’t have to go.” It was embarrassing, but he’d chock his honesty up to all the seawater he’d inadvertently consumed. Then he held up his hand, hiding a smile as Emil eagerly pressed their palms together.

“I will visit,” he promised.

Michele chuckled. “You don’t know where I live.”

“I found you once before,” he offered, leaning closer.

“You-” Michele floundered and then shook his head. “Let’s hope it doesn’t take eight years this time,” he managed and was taken aback when Emil nose brushed his.

“I will find you,” he swore. And before Michele could reply, Emil pressed their lips together in a quick kiss and dove back under the water, leaving a stunned Michele in his wake. He absently heard the crew hooting and hollering from above, but he paid them no mind, his lips still warm and Emil’s promise echoing in his head.

 

Epilogue:

“I can’t believe you won’t let me meet him!” Sara complained as she brought a bowl of soup and some bread to the table. The rest of the crew was eating and drinking heartily on the other side of the dining room at the inn.

“You didn’t let me meet _your_ mysterious suitor until last year,” he argued.

“That’s different! You were never in port at the same time and she-” but Sara shook her head, putting her hands on her hips. “Don’t change the subject, Mickey.”

He lifted his drink and hid a smile behind his cup.

“You’re going to have to introduce me sometime,” she said, fixing him with a look.

“I promise I will. He’s just a little shy.” Then he stood up, picking up his bread. “I’m going to go take a walk along the beach.”

“All right, but when you get back, we’re going to have a serious talk, Michele Crispino!” she called after him.

It was dark, but Michele knew the way. It was much more difficult at sea, but when he returned home, it was easier. He navigated his way past a large outcropping of rocks and toward a tide pool.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said and held up the small loaf of bread, waving it from side to side. A moment later, a pair of glowing blue eyes appeared just above the surface of the water. “Hungry?”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think and shout about this AU on tumblr [@jubesy](http://jubesy.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Oh, hey. This was my 200th work on AO3. (Random fact)


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